my creative path
I ask other artists to tell me about their creative paths - to reveal personal details about why they do what they do and what drives them forward. I have tried (especially through the Inspiration section of TinkerKin) to return the favor.
With that in mind, we delve this week into my own creative history. I may explore certain periods of this bumpy road further, but for now, this is where we start. It is a place for you to get to know a little more about me and what has pushed me over time to make creativity a central component of my daily life.
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My inspiration over the years has ebbed and flowed. During undergraduate school, I was convinced that I could change the world. I truly believed that my role as an artist was to instigate change while sharing my individual perspective about the role of women in society. Although the goal of my work was to be intellectual and conceptual within the confines of the creative process, I was often pushed hard by intense, raw emotion. That emotion, I learned over time, was what truly drove me forward.
Untitled, Summer, 1998. This photo was triggered by the perceived lack of control that I had in my relationships with male colleagues, friends and lovers. With some much needed help, I carried a mattress and a medium format camera into some nearby lava beds. The goal was to visualize the vulnerability of these emotions and juxtapose those against a male position of power and authority.
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During graduate school, my artistic outlook shifted. Although I had some amazing peers and instructors, this next step in my education created a rift between my work and myself. In hindsight, the expectation that emotion without a formal defense was a questionable practice for a professional artist did not blend well with my creative beliefs. I don’t recall if this impacted me immediately or over time, but at some point, I just stopped making new work. Although I valued my creative past, I lacked the inspiration or personal drive to continue. Prior to this, I had always assumed that art held endless possibilities. After this, I assumed that the possibilities were extremely limited.
Left panel: Deconstructed, May, 2002; Right panel: Detail of Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys from Deconstructed, May, 2002. For my graduate exhibition, I spent two years removing all pronouns from a grouping of 12 books (six by male authors and six by female authors).
The removal process was timed, the pronouns were weighed, and the process was catalogued. This “experiment” was not only a test of my artistic stamina but an investigative look at how gendered pronouns fed into our interpretation of language over time.
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There were years in between where I completely lost my path. I became embroiled in my career, and strange enough, in intellectual property. Copyright made sense to me. Although there were laws, court cases and logical facts that helped drive legal decisions, there was also a need to interpret the gray - to evaluate scenarios in a way that made sense to me as both a producer and consumer of art. My left brain grabbed onto these experiences with both hands and never let go.
Two personal events eventually shifted my outlook yet again. The first was the passing of my sister, Kristi. The loss of my sibling and her role in my life shook me to the core. I was despondent - without a home, without perspective. The second was moving my career from publishing to the field of technology. With this change, I was exposed to a whole new world - one that I questioned from a place of professionalism, feminism and compassion. A world that, in the beginning, I moved through in disbelief. Through these changes, I was inspired to create work again, to make my voice heard - to find a place where I could be 100% honest. The creative process began with extremely simple scenes - a photo a day, a tribute to the sister I lost - a moment that I would want to remember or share.
Ocean Beach, July, 2016. Bodies of water have always been places of piece - partially due to youthful, summer days spent on the shores of Lake Michigan - partially due to the feeling of endless possibilities that emerge when staring at an expanse of open water. Places like Ocean Beach remind me of the freedom and the beauty. It reminds me that there are wonderful things in this world if you just look up and look around.
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Over time, my work evolved into still life scenes and hands in frame. I wanted to see the world the way I would want it to be if I had more control, more of a voice or more power.
Bees, October, 2016. For this scene, I toyed with the idea of friendship. As a solitary individual, the kindness and companionship that I show to animals borders on irritating. There is a closeness I crave yet seem unable to find in others. Combine this with an episode of Pushing Daisies where Ned gifts Chuck honeybees to make her home a home and I was sold.
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Slowly my work moved towards collage. In hindsight, I am able to connect the dots - the artist I was with the artist I am now. The biggest difference being I am now a person looking for a kinder, gentler and more supportive world than in the past. In simpler terms, there was me before the tragedy and me after.
Left panel: Father’s Day, June, 2017; Right panel: The Female Condition, May, 2017. This collage work continues to be an extension of my world.
Whether creating work that is focused on the wonderful things in life or political, conceptual critiques about societal norms and expectations, collage is a place where I do not have to hide or pretend. It is a place where, with no apologies, I can combine raw emotion with intellectual curiosity.
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Since that time, I have recovered in my own way. I still miss my sister. I miss her more than I thought was possible. I continue to find the external world (depending on the day you ask me) hard to handle. But through my artwork, through the artists I have met and through these writings - I have found a way to heal. I have found a community kind enough to contribute their time, support and understanding. I have found friends who embrace the collage-obsessed, copyright-enchanted, art curator I have become. I have discovered that the world I create can enhance the one I own.
In other words, I have found a home.